


something about the self

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Masterbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: Steve Rogers had been nothing but a gentleman.But now he was home, alone, the scent of your perfume lingering on the jacket he let you wear when the sun had gone down and the feeling of your lips against his cheek as you stepped inside your own apartment after the date unforgettable.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	something about the self

**Author's Note:**

> something short, slutty, and self indulgent that today's adhd hyperfocus writing session produced. enjoy!

Steve Rogers had been nothing but a gentleman.

He had picked you up at your apartment and made nice with your roommate – a woman too deep in her dissertation cave to say much besides a grunt and a muffled “heyo” before she scurried back up to her room. He complimented your cramped space that you still paid too much for despite having two roommates, and asked questions about your collection of knick-knacks that you bought on various web-based selling platforms.

He had paid for the date he had planned and kept his hand in regions considered polite even by the standards his Ma had lectured him about when he took Susie Reynolds on a date in middle school. He listened intently when you spoke and has asked questions that indicated he did so.

Steve Rogers had been nothing but a gentleman.

But now he was home, alone, the scent of your perfume lingering on the jacket he let you wear when the sun had gone down and the feeling of your lips against his cheek as you stepped inside your own apartment after the date unforgettable. He toes his shoes off with ease, his black jeans following soon after. He leaves them there, in the hallway of his apartment, as he makes his way to his bedroom and falls backwards onto his unmade bed.

Steve, determined to focus on anything but your tits, had gotten himself off that morning before getting dressed – thinking about the flirty texts you had sent back and forth the night before and those bikini pictures you had saved in the Instagram highlight (he thanks Sam every day for teaching him how to use the phone Stark had bought him) titled ‘Summer’ with a selection of yellow emojis.

The problem with this is that the serum was a little unforgiving in what he chose to call “ _intensity_ department” (at least when he was talking to the StarkTech doctors who studied him), to say the least, and even though the tissues in the trashcan underneath his bedside table marked that mornings _extensive_ activities, he could feel himself becoming hard in his black skintight briefs.

As his clothes come off images of you take their place – skin heating as memories of you in that damned sundress flash behind his eyelids.

_He thinks of the way the fabric brushed against your thighs, how the occasional breeze would push it up just enough so that Steve could see the beautiful white lace panties that made the man’s mouth go dry; of your bare shoulders and collarbones and the curve of your breasts in the lacey bra you were wearing._

Steve moves to grab at his own bulge, moaning even as he wishes it was your hand or – oh, _Heaven help him_ – your mouth.

_The same mouth that sipped from a fresh lemonade and left rosy lipstick marks on the plastic straw as you moaned at how good it tasted; the same mouth that bit into pre-cut bites of watermelon and licked up melted popsicle from your fingers._

He wraps a spit-slack palm around himself, eyes screwed shut as he slowly strokes himself.

_He thinks of how condensation from the extra large iced tea you were drinking from dripped down your chin and fell between your breasts, how he tried to nonchalantly disappear below the neckline of your summer dress while you talked about…fuck? What even were talking about?_

Steve’s pace quickens, desperate not to become distracted by his overly-horny memory.

_He thinks of how you got cold as the day went on and he gave you his jacket, and how you placed it over your shoulders and how it was so **big** on you. He imagined himself over you, under you, behind you, in front of you – his body so much larger and stronger than yours as he pounded into your hot, wet pussy. _

And then – _fuck_ – you bought that ice cream cone when you and him were walking that trail and the sun wasn’t setting but it also wasn’t as high in the sky as it used to be.

It was soft serve, plain vanilla, and – just as the popsicle did – it melted down your hands and dripped down your wrist and was such a beautiful contrast to your skin and all Steve could think about was him in your hand instead, how he could imagine your foreheads pressed together as his hands tangled in his already mused sheets and your own hands worked over his shaft and balls and how he would beg you not to step and _fuck, baby please don’t stop fuck I’m so close baby I’m so close, I’m so-_

Steve spills into his own hand as a deep, guttural moan erupts from his chest. If it sounds suspiciously like a choked version of your name, Steve doesn’t think about it as he cleans himself off with even more tissues, exhaustion finally overcoming him as endorphins flood his veins.

As he relaxes, Steve’s hooded eyes delay closing for an extra few seconds when he sees his once-black phone screen light up – flashing a news notification from CNN and (most importantly) a text from _you_.

_hey! i had a really good time today._

Steve’s heart kicks up in his chest.

_Me too_

He replies.

_Are you free this weekend?_

_Love to see you again_

He ignores Sam’s voice in his head telling him not to triple text. Steven Grant Rogers is a grown adult man, who will text pretty women as many times in a row as he wants.

Luckily for his anxiety, he gets a text back almost immediately.

_yeah! i’d love that!!_

And so you and Steve plan one more date, and the man falls asleep with the widest smile he’s ever broken out in plastered across his blissed face.


End file.
